


Whatever It Takes

by lalibertalia



Series: The Hundred Hundred Year Fall [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Buckle your seatbelts everyone, F/M, Now with more Khadgar, Sequel, Which is an improvement for any fic really, long fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 10:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11355606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalibertalia/pseuds/lalibertalia
Summary: It's hard to fight off an invasion when two of your highest-ranking officers aren't on speaking terms.Sequel to Just This Once, in which Maiev is terrible with words, Illidan is trying his best, and Khadgar is more Dadghar than ever.





	Whatever It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a sequel to my earlier Illidan/Maiev fic "Just This Once", back by popular demand. What started out as a quick Round 2 kinda got away from me, and the result is this novella-length saga that I hope you enjoy at least as much as the first one.
> 
> It also references my other earlier fic, "Seeking a Friend for the End of the World", so I'd recommend popping over there first for full context (or if you just want to read about drunk, lonely, broody Maiev).

Ever since Maiev could remember, the war stories of her people told tales of fantastic adventures, of brave warriors who went to battle and vanquished evil, and who returned home triumphant at the end of it all. They detailed the horrors of combat, the pain of loss, and even the sweet rush of victory. But never once did the stories of old mention what it took to maintain such a force, what it took to feed and clothe and train those soldiers so that they could return to a hot meal and a soft bed. No farmers were ever lauded as unsung heroes; no weavers were ever praised as champions. And yet, as the assault against the Burning Legion raged on, Maiev knew from experience that these were the very struggles that the Armies of Legionfall would begin to face.

The salty air of the Broken Shore stung her eyes as Maiev waded through the shallows, as ocean water flooded into her greaves and sloshed around her feet. She should have gotten used to it by now, but still she wrinkled her nose at the squelching sound of her footsteps, and at the large stack of crocolisk meat she dragged behind her.

She had signed up for this, Maiev reminded herself. These days, chances for her to leave camp were few and far between, ever since her Wardens were her own again, and since Maiev found herself thrust into the role of a commander. A commander stuck giving orders from the safety of Deliverance Point, no less, leaving her not much else to do but bark orders at Khadgar’s recruits or slay the occasional infernal that spawned nearby.

This left Maiev with a lot of time to think. Unfortunately for her, those thoughts tended to wander into unsavory territory, and to the very individual that Maiev was making a concerted effort to avoid. After all, it was crucial there be no question that she wanted nothing to do with Illidan and his ilk. Maiev had decided that this meant pretending Illidan didn’t exist, and deferring to Kor’vas whenever she had business to discuss.

They had not spoken since that night in the command centre. Maiev had woken in a huff, hurriedly dressing herself and strapping her armour back together at record speeds. Illidan had watched from the bedroll, amused, still naked and tangled in the single sheet they had shared.

“Forget this happened,” she had told him, as she slid on her helm, not bothering to tie up the hair which spilled out loosely from under it.

“You ask too much of me, Maiev,” Illidan had said with a chuckle. Then she had left him, abandoning her bedroll to whatever or whoever wished to claim it.

It had been nearly a week since then, and Maiev grew increasingly frustrated with herself. She had hoped that the dreams which plagued her and led to this indiscretion would finally leave her in peace; instead they returned and, to her embarrassment, evolved with vivid intensity. Each morning she woke on the cold, hard ground—alone, aroused, and angrier than she had been the day before.

It was excruciating to be around him. Illidan had tried, at first, to make conversation, to talk about what had happened between the two of them. Each time Maiev had ignored him, finding some excuse or another to be anywhere else. She had monopolized Velen, for fear that the Exarch would begin talking to Khadgar and leave the two of them alone together. But even as she immersed herself in invasion tactics, even as the days rolled on by, Maiev couldn’t shake the way her skin prickled and her body flushed whenever she felt Illidan’s eyes upon her.

So when the issue of a food shortage was brought up, and Thisalee suggested hunting the crocolisks that threatened the local crane population, Maiev volunteered and headed down to shore before anyone could stop her. It was undignified work, but it was work nonetheless, and provided her with something to do that involved neither Velen, Khadgar, or her feelings.

So here she found herself—drenched, knee-deep in fresh crocolisk, and contemplating the best way to carry them all back to the kitchens. She caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye, and swung her glaive just in time to impale another of the large beasts. There was no end to them; with any luck, Thisalee’s idea would keep the army fed for weeks.

It was lucky that her weapon was occupied, because it was only seconds later that a bright flash erupted and Maiev found herself standing face-to-face with a shock of grey hair. His staff hovered nearby, blindingly bright, as the light faded from the portal.

“Greetings, Maiev,” Khadgar said with an uneasy smile. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Maiev pulled her glaive from the dead crocolisk, causing a spurt of blood that Khadgar had to swerve to avoid. “What do you want, Khadgar?”

Khadgar eyed the dead crocolisk and gave a nervous laugh. “Can’t an old man stop by to say hello to a friend?”

Maiev sliced a leg off the crocolisk with a _crunch_. “We’re not friends,” she grunted, as she tossed the leg onto her pile of meat.

Khadgar pursed his lips. “Fair enough,” he said. He reached out for Atiesh, whose light had dimmed to near nothingness. “In that case, then, the Archmage of Dalaran would like a word with the leader of the Wardens.”

This caught her ears to perk, and Maiev looked up from the carnage beneath her. Once Khadgar saw he had her full attention, he tapped Atiesh nervously against his leg.

“We have a problem. Or, more specifically, you seem to have a problem,” Khadgar said, crossing his arms. “With Illidan. And we...that is, Velen and I…” He coughed. “Well, it’s making us a bit uncomfortable.”

“That’s none of your business, Archmage,” Maiev deflected, plunging the glaive back into the crocolisk and splitting its tail in two.

“It is, actually,” Khadgar said matter-of-factly. “You lead one of the strongest forces in our army. The Wardens, and everyone else in Legionfall, look to you for example. And when they see one of our leaders refusing to cooperate with another, it sets a _bad_ example, Maiev.”

“Do all humans speak freely of things they know nothing about?” Maiev accused, narrowing her eyes behind her helm. “Or is that just a habit of the Kirin Tor?”

Khadgar shook his head and cleared his throat. “Illidan told me of your, ah, extensive history together. I understand it can’t be easy, working with a man you once guarded and... well, killed, I suppose.”

“You understand nothing.”

Khadgar sighed. “Perhaps I don’t,” he conceded. “But I know war, as I’m sure you do as well. This divide will only hurt us. You must understand this.”

Maiev lifted the pieces of tail and tossed them, one by one, onto the pile. “Do you want me to play nice?” she said with a grimace. “You’re asking water not to be wet.”

Khadgar raised an eyebrow at Maiev, at the way her boots squelched as she bent back down to the crocolisk. “Look how uncomfortable this water is making you.”

Maiev curled her lips. “Don’t ask for miracles, Archmage.”

“I’m not asking,” he said sternly. “I’m demanding.” Maiev looked up with indignation, and saw Khadgar staring back defiantly. “You _will_ sort this out, and you will _not_ let a personal grudge compromise our ranks. This is not negotiable, Maiev.”

Maiev grunted, and broke another leg off the crocolisk with a sickening crunch. “Fine,” she spat. “Have it your way.”

“Excellent,” Khadgar said with a nod. “That’ll be all.” Then Atiesh grew bright again, and soon Khadgar was gone, leaving Maiev alone with a pile of crocolisk meat.

_He could at least have teleported the food back with him._

With a frustrated growl, Maiev rounded up what she could carry and made her way back to camp.

 

* * *

 

It took seven trips for Maiev to bring the day’s spoils back to Deliverance Point. Thisalee nearly squealed with glee, and Maiev could see the soldiers’ mouths watering as the first batch of crocolisk meat was thrown over the kitchen fire. She watched, detached, as a pair of mages froze the rest with their magic, and helped them pile it all neatly away in a cool, dry cellar underground. They ate well that night, and as she watched her Wardens devour their dinners, Maiev allowed herself to revel in the satisfaction of a job well done.

One by one her Wardens trickled away, tired and with bellies full of food, until only Maiev was left around the fire they had made. Her muscles ached as she rose to put it out, and Maiev became aware that she too should probably get some rest. She could fight demons until her legs gave out and her glaives turned dull, but carrying several hundred pounds of crocolisk meat up the winding hills of Deliverance Point was not the kind of exercise Maiev was used to.

Once the fire was extinguished, Maiev wandered behind the mage tower and found a spot to claim for the night. She lay down among the tall grass and wished, not for the first time, that she hadn’t left her bedroll in the command centre that fateful night—even though it would have meant delaying her escape.

It was no matter, she thought, as she unbuckled her armour and stacked it in a neat pile. Maiev was used to sleeping on the ground. She would just close her eyes and drift off, not thinking of how much more comfortable she would be if she had just stayed that morning. She wouldn’t think of how warm she had felt, how soft the bedroll was, how strong and steady Illidan’s arms felt wrapped around her sleeping form, how he knew just where to touch her and—

_Oh Elune. Not again._

Maiev groaned in frustration. She knew this game, by now—knew that sleep would not come easily to her tonight, and that when it did, she would dream of him doing things she wouldn’t allow herself to remember when she woke.

Her muscles screamed. Her body begged for rest. She would be so, so tired tomorrow.

_Unless you do what Khadgar said, and... sort this out._

The idea struck her like a bullet, and she quickly tried to put it out of her mind. But it had already taken root, whispering to her in the dark. She felt herself flushing at the thought. The last few nights she had tried taking care of this “problem” on her own, and though it produced some effect, it did nothing to stop the dreams which tormented her until morning came.

She could go, but leave quickly. She could be present, but detached—this was a means to an end, she told herself, and not an admission of any kind. It was not the brightest idea Maiev had ever had, and she knew it. But still she donned her helm, stashed her armour at the foot of the mage tower, and wrapped her cloak around her. Maiev braced herself, then stepped out into the night.

The camp was vast, and Maiev took great care to walk its length slowly, quietly, so as not to wake any soldiers or alert the watch to her presence. She crept past the Shadowblade, curled up against the VanCleef girl in the atrium of the command center, and past the Slayer’s tent which overflowed with luxurious pillows no doubt stolen from Suramar. It disturbed her greatly, how companionship came so easily to others while she was forced to seek it out in the shadows. But she continued her search, winding down the stairs which ran past the Nether Disruptor and opened onto the graveyard. There she found what she was looking for; Illidan lay nestled in the roots of a dead tree, asleep, his blindfold tucked away by his feet.

She removed her helmet and lay down on her side, next to him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. Maiev knew she would regret this. But still she reached out a hand, tentatively, settling on the bright green tattoos which graced his arm. Her fingers glided smoothly over the intricate patterns. She waited for him to stir, waited until he turned to her, until his hand closed clumsily over her own. Then, when she was sure he was awake, she leaned in and kissed him. He was slow to respond at first, no doubt recovering from the surprise, but then he was kissing back with all the fervor that Maiev remembered. And oh, she hated how her heart beat faster and her skin tingled like lightning against his touch.

“I must be dreaming,” Illidan murmured against her lips. “The real Maiev has been avoiding me for days.”

“I hope so,” Maiev whispered, her breath lightly caressing his cheek. “I never remember my dreams.” She leaned in closer to place a sloppy kiss against the corner of his mouth,  while her fingers danced across the tattoos which glowed upon his chest. Abruptly, she felt strong hands close around her waist, and Maiev found herself suddenly flipped onto her back. Illidan’s lean, muscled form loomed above her as he smirked and buried his face in the side of her neck.

“It seems you remembered last time,” he teased, as his tongue caressed her soft skin. “Despite your best efforts.”

Maiev let out a gasp as Illidan began to nibble on her earlobe. “I’m still trying,” she managed to say.

Illidan bit down gently, and was rewarded with a soft moan. “Then what are you doing here?”

Maiev ran her hands through Illidan’s long, black hair, remembering how smooth it felt against her skin. “My duty,” she replied. “I heard an escaped convict was roaming free among us.”

Illidan migrated a hand up from her waist, cupping her breast and dragging his thumb across it gently. “I suppose you’ll tell me to forget about tonight, too.”

“Naturally.”

“Why?” He said with a chuckle. “Why not just enjoy this?”

“I intend to,” she said, sliding her hands down his chest until they hovered over his waistband. “Do you plan on talking me to death? Or must I remove your clothes myself?”

Illidan raised an eyebrow. “Here? We’re in full view of the camp.”

“The Betrayer’s shy,” Maiev mocked. Then she slipped her thumbs under his waistband, impatiently, and tugged his breeches down. They pooled loosely around his knees.

“Don’t call me that,” Illidan growled, tightening his grip and digging his nails into her skin. Maiev shivered, but still she reached down and wrapped her fingers around his length. She stroked him, languidly, feeling him harden in her hand.

“Or what?” She challenged. She wrapped her legs loosely around him, bringing down her other hand to move her underclothes to the side.

“Maiev, I—,” Illidan was cut off by his own sharp inhale, as she glided his cock against her folds, covering it in her slickness.

“No more talking,” Maiev decided, and positioned him at her entrance. She wanted this. She needed this. Legs safely locked around his waist, Maiev pulled Illidan into her with one fast, fluid motion.

She moaned as his length filled her. She looked up at Illidan, who looked as if he were about to speak; but no words came out as he brought a hand to the back of Maiev’s head, and kissed her while he thrust.

He fisted his hand in her hair and pulled until he heard her gasp. His tattoos burned against her skin. It was just as good as she remembered; Maiev reveled in the feeling of him inside her, in the warmth of his body pressed against her own, in the way he claimed her with his mouth. It was disgraceful, that she would come here and allow the Betrayer to have his way with her. But there was no denying the jolts of pleasure she felt coursing through her body.

“Faster,” she panted against his lips, hands clawing desperately at his back.

“Are you in a hurry?” Illidan teased. He thrust harder, but deliberately slowed his pace.

“Just get this over with,” Maiev gasped.

Illidan bit her lip none too gently. “Your pillow talk needs work,” he purred, pulling her head back and nibbling down to her collarbone. “But I suppose practice makes perfect.”

“Fuck you,” she spat out.

He slammed into her, one powerful thrust that hit her in exactly the right spot.

“As you wish,” he growled, releasing her head and bringing his hand down to where their bodies met.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Maiev knew she was enjoying herself too much. Illidan was her adversary, a traitor—and yet here she lay, moaning into his shoulder like some lady of the night. She shut her eyes, and tried to pretend that he was anyone else.

His hand moved faster, his thrusts grew harder; Maiev cried out as his mouth reached her breasts and sucked reverently at her nipple. Her hands closed around his horns, guiding him, pressing him against her; she would have bruises tomorrow morning, but Maiev couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Look at me,” Illidan husked. Even with his hand between her legs, his pace never slowed. She kept her eyes closed, and her head lolled to the side. “Maiev, please, look at me,” he rasped, cupping her face and bringing it back towards him—

Maiev slapped his hand away with a resounding _crack_.

Instantly, Illidan’s pace ground to a halt. He stared at her in disbelief. “Maiev?”

She opened her eyes, just a sliver, but kept them fixated on a small branch that lay off to the side.

“Just finish this,” she said.

Instead, Illidan pulled out of her, slowly. He hovered overtop, unsure whether or not he should touch her at all.

“Do you…” He said, hesitantly. “Do you not want to do this?”

Maiev’s eyes were empty, unfocused in the darkness.

“Not with you,” she said hollowly.

For a moment neither of them spoke, and their silence deafened the world around them. Then Maiev felt Illidan climb off of her; she heard a rustle of leather as he pulled his breeches back up around his waist.

“Hypocrisy does not become you, Maiev,” he sighed.

At this, her eyes shot back up to meet his.

“Oh please,” Maiev snapped. “Don’t pretend like I’m not just a stand-in for Tyrande.”

Maiev’s own eyes widened in surprise, and she knew, instantly, that she had made a mistake.

_Where had that come from?_

Illidan recoiled as if he had touched hot metal. “Is that what you think?” he asked weakly.

She held his gaze, unwavering. _“_ You and I both know that we’ve always despised each other.”

 _Not always,_ a voice reminded her. _There was a time, before, when you and he were not what you have become._

Illidan looked away, as a loud breeze whistled through the graveyard. The silence was uncomfortable, but Maiev refused to break it, even as his muscles tensed and his hands balled into fists.

“Have the years done nothing to temper your thoughts, the way they have mine?” He managed finally, his voice low and dangerous.

“You don’t fool me, flitting around with your Illidari and acting like you’re some mighty hero of Azeroth.” Maiev was in too deep, now, and the words continued to spill out. “I blame Khadgar for how easy we’ve made it for you to forget what you are.”

Maiev saw it clearly, the moment when Illidan snapped. She stood up hastily as he rounded on her.

“You think this has been _easy_ for me?” Illidan roared. His wings flared, his tattoos glowed bright. “Black Rook Hold is so close I can smell it. Every night I hear the cries of the dead, and every morning I hope to Elune that my return was worth it, that I’m changing some small part of this world for the better. And all the while, I see how your Kal’dorei look at me with disgust—as they should!” Illidan paused, breathing heavily, and lowered his voice.

“I may be here to stop an invasion,” he seethed, “but I was brought back because it’s necessary, not because I was missed.”

His voice echoed, low and powerful, across the graveyard. Maiev stared stubbornly at her feet. _Khadgar will have your head for this,_ she reminded herself. _Make this right._ But the words wouldn’t come, and so she stood there, rooted in place, as the silence stretched on.

“I see,” Illidan said at last. “Well. Fear not, Maiev. I despise myself enough for the both of us.” His wings spread open.

Maiev shot her hand out and sunk her fingernails into his arm. “Running away from me again, are you?” She accused.

“I’m not the one running,” he said firmly, and wrenched his arm away. “In the meantime, I won’t have you use my body like this.”

With a powerful gust of wind, Illidan fled into the night, leaving Maiev standing stupidly at the base of the tree. She cursed angrily as she bent to pick up her helmet.

_Well done, Maiev._

With a snarl, Maiev wrapped her cloak around herself, and added Khadgar to the list of people she would have to avoid from now on.

 

* * *

 

If the last few days had been difficult before, those that followed were agonizing. Illidan no longer tried to make conversation; if anything, he no longer seemed to want to be around her at all. He seemed to have thrown himself into training the Illidari with renewed vigor, and it annoyed her terribly that he went nowhere without Issari. Before, Maiev would have welcomed this change in behaviour. Now she experienced a nagging feeling whenever she saw him leaving at the slightest hint of her arrival.

What she was feeling, though she did not know it and would never accept it, was guilt. Maiev was not used to guilt, or at least not like this; when she left Naisha and her Wardens to die at the Tomb of Sargeras, the burden of her own survival had consumed her for weeks. But Maiev had never felt remorse over hurting someone’s feelings, nevermind those of someone she had considered an enemy for the last ten thousand years. So Maiev processed that sentiment in the only way she knew how: raw, unbridled anger. In the days that followed, hundreds of demons fell to her blades, and to those of Khadgar’s heroes she had tasked with killing them.

She revisited their encounter dozens of times, and each time filled her with dread. Once she even came close to entertaining the possibility that she might have been wrong, and that Illidan may have had a genuine change of heart. But then the panic set in, the pent-up rage of ten thousand years. Illidan had killed thousands. Maiev had only said a few harsh words. In comparison, Maiev had done nothing at all, and so she held that stance, stubbornly, as the battle for the Broken Shore raged on around her.

Then one morning she awoke to an unceremonious kick, and found the VanCleef girl standing over her. Dawn had barely broken, but Maiev was instantly alert; she reached for her glaives, only to find they had been dragged out of reach.

“Just a precaution,” Vanessa said, hands raised. “I thought you might be the kind to kill the messenger.”

Maiev grimaced and sat upright. “Then why did you kick me?” she asked, blinking away the last remnants of sleep.

Vanessa shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

She bent down and extended a hand. Maiev refused it, getting quickly to her feet and staring down at the rogue with disgust. _Elune, humans are so tiny._

“Khadgar wants you,” Vanessa said. “Right away.”

Maiev’s stomach sank. “Of course,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll be right there.” She turned away, searching for her armour, and strapped on her chestplate as slowly as she could manage.

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “You’re not in trouble. Khadgar’s planning a mission. A big one, from the sound of it.”

She waited to see if this increased Maiev’s pace at all. It didn’t. “Khadgar is bringing out his champions,” Vanessa continued. “Sekki and Issari are already there. Velen too, and that death knight whose name I can never remember.” She paused, and put a finger to her chin. “Oh, and Illidan, of course.”

At this Maiev froze, her bracer dangling uselessly from her arm.

“You know, Maiev, rogues are pretty good at sneaking around places undetected,” she offered, and though her mouth was covered by a bandana, Maiev was sure Vanessa wore a smug grin underneath. “Come with me back to Khadgar, and maybe we can get a few seconds before Illidan sees you and runs off.”

Maiev threw her other bracer to the floor. “Watch your tongue, VanCleef,” she spat. “It seems one drink is enough to make you forget that I could kill you where you stand.”

Vanessa clicked her tongue. “You’ll have to deal with this eventually.”

Maiev would have loved nothing better than to never deal with Illidan again, though even she knew that wasn’t a likely possibility. Still, it bothered her that Vanessa had been the one to point it out, so Maiev picked up her bracer and stalled until she thought of something suitably rude to say.

“Get back to your shadowblade,” Maiev jeered. “We can’t risk losing her to separation anxiety before the mission, now, can we?”

To Maiev’s frustration, all she got was a laugh. “Have it your way,” Vanessa said, with a light shake of the head. Then she was gone, disguised by the shadows that lingered in the morning light.

Maiev donned her armour quickly and aggressively. Despite Vanessa’s badgering, Maiev had been itching to attack the Legion directly, and perhaps Khadgar’s mission would be a chance to do just that. She reached the command centre in minutes, and caught sight of the crowd standing tightly together only a few paces away.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Vanessa was the first to register her presence. She winked once, standing idly next to her elven companion who listened to Velen’s instructions with a blank face. Beside her crouched a forsaken woman wringing her hands and muttering incoherently to herself. A blood elf stood there too, frowning slightly with clenched fists, frosted eyes locked on the muttering woman and tightening her grip at the sound of her voice. Khadgar was gesturing wildly to Issari, but her large, curly mane made it impossible for Maiev to see his face. And next to Issari…

_Him._

Illidan must have sensed her staring, because not a second later he took a step back and snarled.

“Mephistroth will die, I will see to it,” he proclaimed, and spread his wings wide. “Issari. With me.”

Then he took off, just as Maiev reached them. Issari looked over and shot her an apologetic half-smile before she too was gone, flying out over the treacherous wasteland.

“Maiev, thank you for your, er, timely arrival,” Khadgar said, turning back to face her with accusing eyes. “We have much to discuss.”

Maiev bared her teeth. “Indeed,” she said, eyeing each member of their group. They were a motley crew, that was for sure. Where Khadgar managed to find these ‘heroes’, Maiev would never know—but he had dozens of them, pouring in from all over Azeroth, ready to follow his instructions and assist however he needed.

“Right, well, first things first. Maiev, you’ve met the shadowblade,” Khadgar said, pointing to the night elf standing next to Vanessa. “And you know Issari, of course.”

Maiev made a face.

Khadgar glanced over at the blood elf. “This is Desdimonda, our Deathlord,” he prompted. Desdimonda did not so much as smile, and kept her eyes locked on the forsaken. “And this is, uh,” Khadgar said nervously, gesturing to the undead woman, “this is Sam.”

Maiev watched with revulsion as one of Sam’s fingers broke clean off with a sickening snap. But this didn’t seem to phase her at all, and soon Maiev could see shadowy tendrils linking her body back together.

Maiev turned her eyes back to Khadgar. “Why have you called me here?” she demanded.

Khadgar gave a confidant smile, and clapped both his hands together. “We’re going to move forward with our attack,” he announced. “We assault the Tomb of Sargaras. Today.”

This was it. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Thousands of years of training had led her here, and Maiev knew she would not fail. “I am ready,” she said, drawing a glaive.

Velen stepped forward. “We know you are,” he replied, voice steady. “But only your Wardens will be coming with us. We need you elsewhere.”

At first Maiev was sure she had heard him wrong. Surely she would get to lead her own troops into battle, for what could be more important than commanding her Wardens to victory? But then she looked back at the ragtag group of soldiers gathered before them, and realization dawned slowly upon her. She looked back at the prophet in disgust. “Absolutely not.”

Khadgar took a step forward, ignoring her. “We will need to place the five pillars of creation throughout the tomb.” Atiesh glowed white, and soon there was a silvery map pulsing gently before them. “Four of them must go within the tomb itself. But if we’re to seal the Burning Legion’s portal, the Aegis of Aggrammar must be used from the outside. This is where you come in, heroes.” He leaned in and pointed towards the map. “The Cathedral of Eternal Night rests above the tomb, and is crawling with demonic forces. The Aegis must be placed at the top.”

“We’ve sent Illidan ahead with the Aegis,” Velen continued. “Once it is in position, I will descend into the tomb with Khadgar and hunt Kil’Jaeden down.”

“Maiev, we need you to accompany our champions into the cathedral...”

But Maiev’s ears were ringing, and she could not hear the words coming from the Archmage’s mouth. Bad enough that her Wardens were to assault the tomb without her, but they would trust Illidan with the Aegis as well? Maiev bit down on her cheek. How many chances would the Betrayer be given, and how many times would he show his true colours, just as she knew and warned he would?

“...and who knows what evil forces are lying in wait, so be prepar—”

“You are too quick to trust Illidan, Prophet,” she interrupted. “I will ensure he fulfills his duty.”

An awkward silence blanketed over them as Khadgar’s words died in his mouth. Vanessa tried to hold back a snort, and even Sekki’s lips were slightly upturned in one corner. Desdimonda looked away, the forsaken let out a loud “Hah!”, while Velen stared incredulously at the warden in front of him.

Khadgar coughed nervously. “Er, yes, thank you, Maiev. But Illidan has Issari with him, and I think she’ll keep him in his place just fine.” He pointed Atiesh at the forsaken. “Personally, I would prefer if you kept an eye on this one instead.”

Maiev narrowed her eyes but kept her mouth shut. Eventually the focus shifted back to Khadgar and the hologram he had conjured, and though it took a tremendous force of will, she succeeded in staying put long enough to hear the rest of his plan. _So be it then_ , she thought. Khadgar and his champions could make light of the situation if they wished; but she knew the truth, and there was no chance she would let the Aegis fall into misuse. She left in a hurry the instant she was sure that Khadgar and Velen had no other strategy to discuss, without so much as a goodbye, and focused on both the tomb and the task set in front of her.

Velen stared with wide eyes at Maiev’s receding figure, and Vanessa let out the laugh she had been struggling to hold.

“Right, we have our orders,” Khadgar sighed, clapping his hands together. “Good luck, everyone.”

 

* * *

 

There was a time, long ago, when Maiev Shadowsong had flinched at the sight of a battlefield. Youthful and naive, dressed in priestess’ garb and surrounded by sisters so much softer and weaker than her Wardens, Maiev could only have watched as Archimonde ravaged the cities of her homeland. She had taken up arms, and joined the hundreds of night elves who marched nervously on the front lines; she remembered their fear and the smell of their sweat as they charged to their deaths, remembered her revulsion at the sea of cadavers that used to be the people she knew and loved.

Though she was hardened now, older and stronger and perhaps even wiser if one were to embellish, Maiev couldn’t help but wonder if history were about to repeat itself as she raced across Cinder Run. Khadgar had mustered troops by the thousands, and all of them were advancing through the Broken Shore as one mighty, unbroken force. Maiev should have been with them, should have been leading her Wardens to victory on the field. Instead she pretended not to notice when her own company caught up to her at the back of the tomb.

Their mission began just as poorly as Maiev had expected. Despite her brisk pace, she and Khadgar’s champions had reached the entrance just in time to hear Illidan charge off after Mephistroth, leaving them alone and without a plan at the foot of the steps.

“Illidan!” she screeched, staring off after him. “Curse that impetuous demon hunter.”

She whipped back to face the party, a nasty snarl still gracing her lips. They stared back at her, unsure how to proceed.

“Well?” Vanessa shouted after a while, gesturing wildly with her blade. “Go after him!”

“She’s right,” Sekki added, drawing her own weapons. “We’re here to protect the Aegis, and right now the Aegis is with Illidan.”

“I can go,” Issari said, stepping forward. “I can fly up there, and—”

“No, we need you here,” the death knight said forcefully. “Maiev can handle herself.”

Maiev glanced at the forsaken, who stood silently off to the side. “Go,” she croaked, the simple word echoing across the chamber.

Maiev huffed. “Stay together,” she warned. “This temple is crawling with demons.” Then she sprinted ahead, toward the staircase at the end of the temple, destroying any creatures that were unlucky enough to try and interfere. Her companions brought up the rear, drawing fire and allowing her to slip into the stairway unhindered—and for that, she supposed, she was grateful. The stairs were hardly empty, but here Maiev knew she could use the spiralling steps as a bottleneck, and carve her way to the top without risk.

 _Ten thousand years, and still you’re chasing Illidan like a dog_.

Maiev shook her head as the first wave of demons descended upon her. Why did it always come down to this? How could Azeroth’s most powerful beings trust him, time and time again? Why was Maiev the only one who could see how foolish they all were?

 _Unless, perhaps, you’re being a little foolish too_.

She pushed the thought away with a swing of her glaive. Illidan had killed thousands. Innocent lives, drained away as fuel for his power.

_And how many innocent lives have you taken?_

Another demon fell to her blade. She was nothing like him. He had betrayed his people, betrayed her, eluded her, locked her up in the Black Temple—

_Just as you locked him away for millennia._

He was a monster, a dangerous criminal who would stop at nothing to get his hands on more power.

_To save Azeroth. Just as you released his illidari, to save Azeroth._

She let out a ferocious cry. She hated him. She loathed him with every fibre of her being.

_Then why does it unsettle you, that he hates himself just as much?_

Maiev roared and dug her glaives into a felbeast’s back. The whole temple likely knew she was here now, but Maiev didn’t care. Let them come. She would kill them all, every last vile creature; either they would die here today, or she would.

She held her ground as she ascended, leaving behind nothing but remains. She was near the library, now. Maiev could hear the ringing of metal on metal, and as she rounded the corner she could see Khadgar’s champions locked in battle with a hulking mo’arg, tearing the room to shreds.

They were struggling more than they should have been. Maiev watched, perplexed, at the way Issari and Desdimonda constantly fought over who should pull the mo’arg’s focus, while the forsaken seemed to be doing her best to aggravate it. Vanessa and Sekki blinded it in turn, which kept it moderately distracted, but they gave no warning to anyone else when they did.

Then she heard a beating of wings from above, as Illidan’s eye beams pierced through the gloom and struck down a pack of imps. He landed on the spiral staircase with a powerful _thud_ , and sprinted up the steps. Maiev started after him immediately.

“Illidan!” she screeched. “Stay where I can see you, or I’ll shackle you like the beast you are!”

Illidan kept running. “Posture if you must, Maiev,” he shouted down. “But we have a mission to complete, so for now, do what you do best and follow me.”

Maiev knew she should have reacted to that, somehow. But although she would never admit it out loud, deep down she knew that he was right. So she continued relentlessly up the stairs, never breaking her stride as she cut through the waves of demons that tumbled down towards her. Soon she heard footsteps, and knew her companions had broken through the library; they scaled the rest of the staircase together without speaking a word.

Maiev had not thought of what they would encounter at the top of the cathedral. If they were lucky, perhaps they would find nothing but some overgrown greenery, or a few dusty stained glass windows. But as they reached the top of the steps that opened onto the Sacristy of Elune, none of them expected to find Khadgar, disheveled, breathless, and clutching Atiesh to his chest. The white light of a portal faded quickly behind him, and Illidan swooshed down to his side.

“We lost,” Khadgar wheezed, gripping Illidan’s shoulder to steady himself. “The legion broke our lines and pushed us out of the tomb. You’re all that stands between them and the Aegis, now.”

Looks of shock and trepidation spread across each of their faces.

“I don’t…” Issari mumbled. “But…”

“How?” Sekki pressed. “You had the other pillars!”

Maiev looked down at Khadgar, tired and beaten on the stone floor.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said decisively. “We need to focus on getting the Aegis in place.”

A low rumbling reverberated throughout the sacristy; dust and small rubble fell from the ceilings, and the cathedral windows clattered ominously. Maiev rushed to the staircase and drew her glaives.

Vanessa ran to the archmage. “Khadgar, get up—”

“There’s no time,” he said weakly. “Do what must be done, heroes.”

Maiev looked down the staircase at a writhing mass still several stories down. There must have been hundreds of demons there, wailing, clamoring over themselves as they ascended. She could engage them, while Illidan and the others dealt with the Aegis. But as they grew closer, and their numbers never seemed to dwindle, Maiev had to consider that this might be too much for her alone.

“Take the Aegis and go!” she heard Illidan yell, and then he was standing next to her, glaives at the ready.

“They are coming!” Khadgar shouted from behind.

“Let them come,” Illidan growled. “Maiev and I will hold them off on the stairs below.”

He bolted down the steps towards the swarm, and Maiev followed, eager to meet them. “Forgive me if my glaive finds your heart, Illidan,” she barbed when she caught up. “With so many demons about, it’s hard to distinguish you from the rest of this filth.”

The demons were closer, now. The full force of the Legion marched up the cathedral steps; fel guards and dreadlords, stomping in formation, inquisitors and Eredar glowing menacingly as they advanced.

“So you’re talking to me now,” Illidan said, readying himself for the attack.

Maiev took a stance to match his. “Don’t sound so pleased with yourself,” she said, raising her weapon in anticipation. “You can’t even look at me.”

“People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,” he shot back. “Kor’vas is getting tired of playing messenger, by the way. I imagine Sira is as well.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, baring his teeth, “is that the Maiev I knew would never let her feelings get in the way of her duty.”

The onslaught hit them like a tsunami before Maiev had a chance to respond. In a matter of minutes she could no longer see Illidan as she was enclosed on all sides; Maiev took all of her rage, and channeled it into the swings of her glaives. Her battle cry resounded up the steps, mingling with the sounds of combat above, as the floor grew slick with demon blood and the staircase crowded rapidly with bodies. She heard a gust of wind, a thrashing of wings—

“Maiev, get down!”

She barely had time to duck before a beam of light pierced through the mob, toppling a dozen creatures in one devastating attack. Illidan pushed through the hole in their lines, knocking their bodies over the edge of the stairs with a powerful kick. With a beat of his wings Illidan swooped down beside her.

“The Aegis is in place. Issari and the others are engaging Mephistroth now.”

Maiev speared an imp through the skull. “Shouldn’t you be up there with them?”

“That’s not where I’m meant to be,” Illidan answered.

Maiev sensed movement behind her and whipped around to face an Eredar who had been trying to sneak closer. The Eredar thrust a glowing hand towards her throat, but Maiev was faster—she dodged his grip and she doubled back at him, stabbing him in the gut. He groaned in pain and fell backwards, crushing a smaller demon underneath his weight. She felt Illidan before she saw him, and then he was in front of her, shoving the Eredar’s corpse off the stairwell.

“You handle the demons,” he shouted to her. “I’ll deal with the bodies and carve us a path.”

Maiev charged into a pack of felhounds without so much as flinching at their foul breath, and their viscous, green saliva that fell to the floor in thick drops. She maneuvered expertly around the spots where the drool burned through the marble. And each time a demon fell to her blades, Illidan was there to remove it.

“Why are you doing this?” she cried out, severing a wyrmtongue’s head from its body. “What do you want from me?”

Illidan ducked as a bolt of fel fire rocketed through the air. “You really can’t tell?”

“Do you expect me to read minds?”

Illidan let out a fierce roar as he hoisted two felhunter corpses and flung them at a lumbering mo’arg a few stories down.

“I expect you to be honest!” He bellowed, breathing heavily, before he locked a hand tightly around an imp’s throat. “And even after all this time,” he said, flinging the imp effortlessly down the steps, “no, especially after all this time—I need you to believe me.”

There was a loud _thump,_ and the sacristy shook with the impact. Maiev looked down in horror to see a vortex of green fire and rocks advancing destructively up the steps.

“About what?” she said hastily, eyes still fixated on the hulking monster below. “That you’re redeemed, now? The prophesied child of the light?”

Illidan pursed his lips and followed her gaze. The infernal was lumbering forward at an alarming pace, but the waves of demons seemed to be thinning out.

“Never mind,” he said darkly. He drew his blades. “Focus on the demons.”

Then he charged forward into the mess. Maiev followed, slaughtering her way through the creatures that poured into the space left behind by their dead kin. She saw flashes of green as Illidan took on the infernal ahead; but he could handle himself, so Maiev occupied herself with purging the last of the Legion’s army that swarmed around them like insects.

She saw the infernal collapse with a mighty crash, shattering part of the staircase and dropping chunks of boulder down onto the lower levels. Then Illidan moved back to her side. Her blades felt sharper, her strikes quicker, as Maiev and Illidan eradicated the demons that remained. They fought for what seemed like hours, side by side without a word—Maiev killing, Illidan clearing, until there was nothing left to fight.

 _Except each other_.

A blood-curdling scream echoed down the stairs. Maiev looked up in horror.

“They’re going to die up there,” she muttered.

“Have a little faith,” Illidan said. “They’ve made it this far.”

Maiev shook her head. “I saw them, earlier. They don’t fight as one. Mephistroth will destroy them.”

A second scream, louder this time, and a cry of anguish that pierced through the halls. Maiev knew that voice.

_VanCleef._

“Hold the stairs,” Illidan said. Then he was gone, sprinting back up to the sacristy. Maiev cast her gaze down. More demons were coming; she bared her glaives and held her ground, hoping against all odds there wouldn’t be a funeral awaiting her at the top of the Cathedral.

She did what she could to keep the Legion at bay. More cries rang out from above, and Maiev could only pray that Illidan had reached them in time. So she kept fighting, in the hopes that it would calm and focus her in the way it always had before. She sliced and slashed like an unwavering machine, but the demons kept coming—so Maiev kept killing, and kicking, and listening.

When the cries faded away, and she could no longer hear the clangs of metal against metal, Maiev had a lump in her stomach the size of her fist. When the silence broke, and she could pick up on heated voices and the scrambling of feet, she waited for a wave of relief that never came.

She dispatched the last few stragglers that scrambled up the staircase and sprinted hastily to the top, taking the steps two at a time. She was greeted by a sight only slightly better than expected: Issari and Desdimonda were alive, barely standing and covered all over in burns, while Sam was busy oozing shadow magic as she reattached her arm to its socket.

But Maiev’s heart nearly stopped when she saw the tiny figure lying on the ground, bruised and bloody. Vanessa’s head was propped up in Sekki’s lap as she was force fed a crimson liquid from a vial of tempered glass. Sekki’s face was contorted in anguish as she clutched desperately at the vial, and Maiev realized with dismay that she knew that face—she had worn that same expression all those years ago, when her wardens had perished not far from here.

Behind them all lay Mephistroth, defeated, deceased, radiating power even in death. Illidan stood over him, looking down hungrily at the ornaments he wore around his neck and hands. He snapped them off, first the necklace and then the rings. Finally he took hold of Mephistroth’s thumbnail and tore it from his skin with a sickening crack. The nathrezim’s body pulsed green, once, and the objects in Illidan’s hands pulsed with it. And then, with an eery hiss, Mephistroth’s corpse turned to dust.

Illidan raised his spoils and looked out over the room. “Mephistroth’s power is contained within these relics,” he announced. “Whoever wields them will be capable of causing the Legion great pain.”

The room was filled with silent awe, but Maiev was not impressed. How very like him it was, to seize Mephistroth’s power for himself while the fate of the world was at hand. She waited for Illidan to consume it, as he had consumed the skull of Gul’dan all those years ago.

Instead, Illidan crossed the floor to where the party gathered, and laid the artifacts at their feet.

“Take them,” he said. “The future of Azeroth lies with you.”

Maiev barely registered the flash of light that appeared from the center of the room; she saw Aegwynn’s image form out of the brightness, and even heard some of the words it spoke. But while the hologram congratulated them on their victory, and warned them about the safeguards that had been placed in the tomb years ago, Maiev wasn’t thinking about the Guardian. She wasn’t thinking about the Aegis resting in its proper place. She wasn’t thinking of her companions, who looked as though they had danced with disaster and only barely won. The only thought which crossed her mind was that, in all the time she’d known Illidan, he’d never once managed to genuinely surprise her.

_Until now._

The forsaken—who by now had successfully reattached her arm—plucked a ring from the pile and smiled, showing off an unsightly set of rotting teeth. After some bickering about who got which, Desdimonda and Issari each took one as well. Issari even picked up the necklace and walked it over to Sekki, but the night elf was still too busy whispering over Vanessa’s body, helplessly watching the red liquid overflow from her lips into a puddle on the floor. So instead Issari watched, clutching the necklace to her chest, as Sekki’s whispers turned into murmurs, then to sobs, and then to nothing at all. Illidan approached and placed a hand on her shoulder, and when Sekki shook it off angrily, he did not try again. Maiev watched him with a tightness in her chest.

Just seconds ago, he had held every ounce of Mephistroth’s power in his hands. The Illidan she knew would never have given it up, and certainly not to a ragtag group of fighters who wouldn’t have survived the encounter without him. Illidan cared about nobody but himself. He shouldn’t have been standing there, sympathetically, comforting a woman who had nothing to offer him.

_Especially after all this time, I need you to believe me._

Believe him about what? She needed to know, now. She thought back to the day he returned, back to Xe’ra and the Illidari whose faith in him never wavered. How he threw himself recklessly into fighting the Legion, the same way he always had. And then, as if on cue, she remembered the words he said to her that night in the command center.

_Perhaps I can start this new life by doing something right._

A loud gasp of breath filled the chamber, and Maiev looked up to see Vanessa lurch forward and cough violently onto the floor. She watched Sekki cry out in relief, saw the tears that threatened to spill as she threw her arms around the girl and nearly knocked them both to the ground.

“Careful!” Issari yelled. “She’s still hurt.” She sank to her knees and began fussing immediately over them both, pulling a jar of salve from her pack and shoving it into Sekki’s hand.

Even Illidan’s face betrayed the barest of smiles, as Sekki placed a hand on Vanessa’s cheek. “You scared me,” she cried, pressing their foreheads together.

“You should know better,” Vanessa croaked out. “I play dead like an expert.”

Sam grunted at this, from her spot on the floor where she played with her ring. But that was the end of it, and as they all gathered around the image of Aegwynn, relief washed over them in cascades. The aegis was where it needed to be. They had done it.

“Get her home, all of you,” Illidan said. “Maiev and I will take the Guardian’s message back to Khadgar.”

Sekki didn’t argue. Issari rushed to the crumbling wall of the chamber, where the battle had knocked out a hole large enough for a giant. From her pocket she pulled a whistle and blew it as loud as she could, and within minutes four gryphons awaited them outside. Sam pushed past Issari and clambered inelegantly into a saddle, leaving the rest of them behind as she tugged on the reins and raced away. Desdimonda frowned, clearly put off by the forsaken’s strange behaviour, but she mounted her gryphon in turn. Sekki and Issari helped Vanessa to her feet, and led her gingerly to a gryphon of her own, where Issari delicately lifted Vanessa onto Sekki’s lap. Sandwiched between Sekki’s torso and the feathery neck of the beast, Vanessa turned her head as far as her beaten body would allow.

“Did we stop them?” Vanessa called back weakly, slumping forward against the feathered creature.

Illidan gave the slightest incline of his head. “For now,” he said somberly.

Vanessa nodded once before her eyes fluttered shut and Sekki wrapped an arm sturdily around her waist. Maiev watched the shadowblade pulled on the reins and launch them into the night, her allies following closely behind, until Illidan’s spectral sight failed him and even Maiev could no longer see them on the horizon.

Then it was just the two of them, standing rigidly, as the faint sounds of battle echoed up from outside. Maiev’s palms were sweaty, her body exhausted, as she watched Illidan pocket the crystal containing Aegwynn’s message. She took a tentative step forward.

“Illidan,” she began, locking eyes with him. He looked at her expectantly, and she faltered—what was she supposed to say? Maiev had never been good with words, and though she wracked her brain for a way to phrase what she felt, they simply wouldn’t come. She bit her lip, and willed herself to speak, to say something, anything, that would break the tension between them. All she managed was an open mouth, hidden behind her helmet and her own damning pride.

“I should return to camp,” he said at last, coldly, and then he too was gone with a flutter of wings. Maiev watched helplessly as Illidan soared down, to where the armies of Legionfall were in full retreat.

Why had she expected anything else?

Why did it sting so much that she had?

_Stupid. He’s the Betrayer. He’s the same as he ever was, and you’re the same as you will ever be._

With a flare of her cloak, Maiev turned away from the window and began her descent. Her emotions bubbled to a boil as she stomped down the cathedral stairs; there were still demons in the building, she had no doubt, and despite how long she had already spent fighting, perhaps what she needed right now was to slaughter one after another until her glaive was stained with blood and the cathedral floor was littered with corpses.

She launched herself at the first demon she saw, her glaives splitting clean through its neck. More approached, drawn in by the sound of their fallen comrade, and Maiev destroyed them each just as easily. She roared as metal cleaved through flesh, and she killed, again and again, until she reached the cathedral entrance.

Maiev was breathing heavily, but her head still ached, her heart still beat furiously, and her body still shook with anger. There had to be more demons somewhere. The Broken Shore was crawling with them.

She chose a path at random and charged forward, through the screaming cliffs and the swarm of felbats who roosted there. She left behind a pile of dead roost mothers, deaf to the cacophony of felpups who whined and screeched in confused circles. She pushed forward still, slaughtering any Naga who dared get in her way, until every demon on the Path of Suffering was alerted to her presence. She met them head-on as they surged towards her, and though they outnumbered her more than twenty to one, and her muscles screamed at her to stop and rest, she continued on with her massacre until only a handful of demons remained.

She was nearly at the water by the time her legs gave out from under her. She stumbled forward, narrowly missing a devastating swing from a Mo’arg giant; she caught herself quickly, and used the momentum to roll forwards and leap out at a pack of felstalkers who cowered behind the Mo’arg for safety. With a few quick strikes, Maiev separated their heads from their bodies, and then it was just her and the hulking monster, fighting on the shore which had become a graveyard.

Maiev’s breaths were ragged now, and her head screamed in pain as she met the Mo’arg blow for blow. Each clash of blades sent a painful shock down her leg, and as she parried the strokes of its broadsword and dodged the lumbering swings of its spiked, metal arm, she felt her resolve slip further and further away.

She had to end this now, she knew. She steadied herself and focused on dodging the mo’arg’s attacks until she found her window—and with a single, powerful slash, she brought her blade clean through the demon’s arm. Maiev skittered away as the mo’arg let out a terrifying, guttural roar, and its sword clattered noisily to the ground.

 _It’s over_ . _It’s as good as dead now._

Maiev let out a shuddering breath. She flicked the blood from her glaive and looked up to deal the killing blow—

And was struck, violently, as the mo’arg swung its metal arm down with an earth-shattering smash. She flew back several feet, landing on the ground with a deafening crack as a searing pain shot through her stomach. Maiev struggled to sit upright; her bloody gloves slipped against the rocky earth and her arms cried out in protest. Then she looked down and all colour drained from her face.

She saw her chestplate, oozing blood and pierced by a broken metal spike that was buried deep in her stomach. She looked back up at the mo’arg, though her vision was obscured by her helmet which now sat askew, and confirmed what she had suspected: one of its spikes had broken off during the blow and now, more enraged than ever, it was hurtling towards her at an alarming speed.

It took all of Maiev’s remaining strength for her to face it down and wait. Her glaive lay only inches away, and though her gloves were slick with blood, she closed her finger around its pommel and brought it to her side. Her eyes never left the mo’arg as it came closer, closer, closer—

Then she hurtled the glaive, aiming squarely at its chest. To her relief, the glaive sunk deep into its scarred body, protruding grotesquely from where its heart should have been. Maiev watched, and prayed, until she saw it tumble forward and heard the sound of her glaive cracking into pieces as the mo’arg’s body met the shattered earth. It lay there, twitching for a bit, before it too went still and joined the mass of corpses that crowded the shore. And then, finally, she was alone.

The pain in Maiev’s gut throbbed unbearably, and as her arm gave out from under her, she collapsed unceremoniously onto her back. She tried to move, but her muscles refused to contract enough for her to even raise a hand. She needed to run, she needed to get out of here.

 _This can’t be how I die_ , Maiev thought to herself. The pain was eating away at her, and the blood that poured from her wound was beginning to pool at the bottom of her chestplate. She wanted to assess the damage, but Maiev lacked even the strength to remove her helmet, to adjust the way it sat crooked on her head against the ground. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t, she _wouldn’t_ , and so she lay there in agony, riding out the pain.

_But, of course this is how you die._

The blood was pooling thicker now. It itched against her back, and Maiev yearned to scratch it.

_You’ve been hunting demons for thousands of years. How did you really think it would end?_

She felt beads of sweat dripping into her eyes. She winced, tried to shake her head. But the movement only worsened the pain.

_You’re going to die here, and you’re going to die alone._

She’d thought she’d meet death among her Watchers, surrounded by those who looked up to her, admired her.

_But this is what you really wanted, isn’t it? A lonely end, so you would never have to see the faces of those you love, as they watch you die? Are any of them even left?_

As the pain worsened, the voice in her head sounded much friendlier. Better to just accept it, maybe. Her body screamed, and she could still feel the blood dripping down her stomach.

 _I will not die here_ , she thought desperately. _There are still demons to kill. The Legion must still be destroyed._

But though she thought this to herself, over and over, she believed it less and less each time. Her injuries were severe. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t call for help. And nobody knew where she was.

_Did you live the life you wanted? Would you do it all again, if you could?_

She thought of Jarod, of Naisha, of all the Watchers she had lost. She thought of when she had been High Priestess, before she returned the title to Tyrande. She thought of Mount Hyjal; the centuries she spent upon it, and the ten thousand years she spent below.

_What if you were wrong? After all this time, what if Illidan is not the monster you thought he was? What could your life have been, if you had all those years back?_

With a choked sob, Maiev closed her eyes, and waited for death to take her.

She lay there for what felt like hours, riding out the excruciating pain that wracked her body, praying for it to end soon. Her back was sticky. Her eyes burned, and her mouth was painfully dry.

But then she felt the ground vibrate with a violent _thud_ , and a gust of wind swept across her crumpled body. Through blurry eyes, she saw bright green as her helmet was lifted carefully off. She blinked, once, twice, and as her eyes tried to focus through the pain she could make out a figure of deep purple, and bright, fel-green eyes.

“Maiev!”

She heard Illidan’s voice crying out to her, but she could only lay still, chest barely rising and falling with her shallow breaths.

He said something then, she thought. Something that might have been _what have I done_ , but Maiev couldn’t be sure. She barely registered his warm hand as he pressed it against her pulse. Then that same hand moved to the spike at her stomach, and Maiev cried out in pain.

She heard his sigh of relief, but her vision was still blurry as he reached his arms—were they his arms?—over to her sides, fumbling with the straps on her chestplate. When they came away, she felt the cool air of the shore stinging against her blood-stained body. Illidan reached behind his head, and then his eyes were shining brightly as he held a strip of black fabric in one hand.

“Don’t move, Maiev,” he said, and stuffed the blindfold unceremoniously into her mouth. Then Illidan took hold of the spike, and Maiev whimpered embarrassingly into the cloth.

“I’m going to pull out the shard, then sear the wound shut.”

 _Why is he here? Why is he doing this?_ Maiev blinked, trying to get her vision to focus. Where were the others? Why couldn’t he just let her die here like everybody else?

“This will hurt,” he warned.

Maiev shut her eyes tightly. She wanted to live. She wanted to live if it took every last bit of strength she had. She wanted to live, even if she needed the Betrayer to do it.

Slowly, painfully, Maiev gave a single nod.

“Don’t move,” he repeated, and yanked.

Maiev’s whole body was fire. She let out a muffled scream, biting down hard on the blindfold, until she felt the metal slide gracelessly from her stomach. More hot blood gushed from the wound, spurting down her sides and mixing into the dirt.

“You’re almost there,” she heard him say, and was that faint pressure Illidan’s hand around hers?

Then she saw green—bright, iridescent green—and as the eye beams hit her stomach Maiev cried out against the fabric stuffed between her teeth. The pain was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. The smell of burning flesh reached her nostrils and Maiev felt the urge to vomit, to cry, to forget this whole thing and just die already—

And then everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

 

Maiev spent the next few days in a haze. She could sense, vaguely, that she was lying down; somewhere soft, not at all like the rocky ground she remembered. She saw flashes, sounds, all just fragments obscured by the fog which clouded her mind. A searing pain, a flash of purple. An argument between familiar voices.

“How is she?”

“Let me focus.”

“Mishka, please—”

“Do you want her to live or not? Get out and let me do my job.”

More than once she tried to open her eyes, but she couldn’t see past a blur of shapes before her head screamed in pain and she was forced to keep them shut and surrender to the drowziness that engulfed her. Maiev lost all track of time, slipping in and out of consciousness, floating dreamlessly in a twisted limbo.

Then one day, when the cloudy fog had lessened to almost nothing and she could hear the faint sounds of music in the distance, she felt a stinging pinch in her upper arm. Maiev’s eyes shot open. It took a few moments for her to regain her focus, but soon the swirling blue shapes solidified into the face of a young draenei.

“Good, you’re awake.”

Maiev mumbled a few words as she struggled to sit up.

“The worst is over now,” Mishka said. “Can you tell me your name?”

_Where am I?_

“Maiev,” she struggled, trying to take in the room around her. She was in a tent of some sort; cots lined the wall, all full, their occupants soundly asleep. She could still hear music, though it was faint, and coming from somewhere outside. “Shadowsong.”

“Good,” Mishka said, grabbing a pot of salve from a table off to the side. “I’m going to remove your bandages, and then I’m kicking you out.” She leaned down and reached for the hem of Maiev’s shirt. “Nothing personal, of course. We simply have more injured souls than we have beds to care for them.”

Maiev squinted at the beds. None of the others looked like her Wardens, but she couldn’t be sure. Did they survive the assault on the tomb? Could she bear it if they hadn’t?

“This isn’t the infirmary,” she said instead.

“Remind me to tell you what it’s like to treat patients next to the forges,” Mishka said. “Someone had to take things into their own hands.”

Maiev shrugged an acknowledgement, and was surprised to feel no pain.

“You’re lucky that Illidan found you when he did,” Mishka continued, lifting the hem of Maiev’s shirt. “I’ve never triaged anyone in such bad shape. You’ll have a nasty scar, unfortunately.”

Maiev sat still while Mishka delicately removed the gauzy cloth which covered her stomach, revealing an ugly, raised scar on her left side. Maiev let out a sharp exhale. She was no stranger to scarring; her body was riddled with them after years on the battlefield. But she had never been this close to death, and the scar was large and jagged enough that she would never forget it. She shivered as Mishka applied the salve over her wound. It felt cool against her skin, and was accompanied by a pleasant tingle. Mishka pulled her shirt back down and stood.

“All better,” she said, wiping her hand on a cloth hanging from her belt. “You may feel a slight pressure as the magic wears off.”

“I…” Maiev faltered. “I’m healed?”

“Right as rain. Welcome back to the world of the living, Warden Shadowsong,” Mishka smiled, pulling the cloth from her belt and tossing it onto a pile in the corner. “Now get out of my infirmary.”

Maiev didn’t need any encouragement. With a small nod, she tore open the canvas flap and stepped into the cool night air.

Mishka’s infirmary was out of the way, set up where Maiev recalled the archery range had been. A pair of great eagles sat majestically on a fallen log, piercing her with their scrutinizing gaze. Maiev regarded them warily as she crept behind the tent and down the main staircase, to where she could hear music playing in the square.

Maiev had never seen Deliverance Point so empty. There were no sentries, no warlocks guarding their arcane cells, and no demons trapped within them; the old infirmary had been packed up, and the forges lay abandoned and unattended. The lily pond sat undisturbed, unnaturally quiet without the Uncrowned bruisers fussing about their piles of gold.

The source of the music was not hard to find; the only sign of life in the square came from the tents at the far end, where Elune’s priestesses and the Kirin Tor sat amicably together around wooden tables. Khadgar stood, deep in conversation with Modera, as a band of Bloodsail corsairs played jaunty tunes from all manner of well-worn instruments. Modera was laughing and shaking her head as the two of them looked over at a group of dwarves, who riverdanced along to the Bloodsail’s shanties.

She watched as a priestess rose from one of the tables and made her way to Modera. The elf bowed shyly and extended an arm, and Khadgar nodded emphatically when Modera looked at him for approval. He was still laughing when the pirates switched to a lighter, airier song, and he tapped his feet in amusement when Modera and the priestess reached the dance floor and began to sway. Maiev was about to leave when Khadgar looked up and caught her eye.

“Ah, Maiev,” he called out, waving her over. Maiev scowled, but Khadgar had drawn all eyes to her now, so she had no choice but to shuffle reluctantly over to meet him. “Mishka’s released you at last, has she?”

Maiev ignored him, taking a better look at the band of pirates playing jovially in front of them. “What is this?”

Khadgar smiled. “What do you mean?”

“Why are people dancing?” Maiev asked sullenly. “We lost. The tomb is still under Kil’Jaeden’s control.”

“Perhaps,” Khadgar conceded. “For now, the Aegis is in place. Once we recover, we’ll breach the tomb again. And this time we’ll know what to expect.” He turned his head to where Modera danced clumsily with the priestess. “But until then, one has to try to lift our spirits somehow.”

Maiev raised an eyebrow at the empty square. “Looks promising.”

“I’m sure it’ll pick up,” Khadgar said with a knowing smile.

Maiev shrugged. “Of course. Best of luck, Archmage,” she said, and turned to leave.

“Actually,” Khadgar said loudly, raising his eyebrows, “I was hoping you could give me a hand. Literally.”

Maiev looked at him, then at the empty square, then back to him. “I don’t dance,” Maiev said tersely.

“Nonsense,” Khadgar said. “Everyone can dance. Perhaps all our troops need is a little...encouragement. From their leaders. To set an example.” He extended his hand toward her, with a smile that Maiev could only describe as shit-eating. “Surely you’d do _anything_ to help Azeroth? And since it doesn’t involve a certain demon hunter, perhaps this is one task I can rely on you to actually accomplish?”

Maiev fought a surge of anger. The whole square was watching them now, and it took every last bit of her willpower not to snap Khadgar’s neck then and there. She remembered standing in the shallows, covered in crocolisk blood, making a promise she never intended to keep.

_When they see one of our leaders refusing to cooperate with another, it sets a bad example, Maiev._

She couldn’t walk away from him twice in a row, and as she stared down this frail, old, conniving man, she realized he knew this as well.

Maiev felt her face burn as she reached out, took his hand, and marched unceremoniously onto the floor. She wished that she still wore her helmet, or any garment that could mask her expression of horror. As Khadgar bowed to her, and she bowed in return, she wondered what had become of her Warden’s armour and when she would be able to recover it. It was then that she noticed her own clothing: a white, billowy tunic and patchwork leather pants.

“What am I wearing?” she demanded, eyes narrowed, as Khadgar placed his free hand respectfully at her waist.

“It’s the Shadowblade’s,” Khadgar replied. “Vanessa thought you might want to wake up wearing something that isn’t covered in blood.”

“How thoughtful,” Maiev said drily.

He lifted a hand, and extended his index and middle fingers. “Only the best for our favourite Warden,” he said, bending his fingers into air quotes. He shook his head. “Or, well. Something to that effect.”

Maiev rolled her eyes as Khadgar returned his hand to her waist and began to lead. She followed in his steps, stiffly and somewhat clumsily, but Khadgar kept the pace modest and the steps predictable. She scanned the floor and saw, to her dismay, that a small crowd was forming in the square.

“Where are my wardens?” she asked over the music. “I didn’t see them in the infirmary.”

“That’s because they didn’t need the infirmary,” Khadgar explained. “You trained them well. They’re scouting the shore for survivors, now.”

Maiev felt the sweet wave of relief. They were alright. They had not died because of her.

“You were unconscious for three days,” Khadgar said, as he stepped to his left to avoid the lily pond. “They were very worried about you.”

Maiev frowned, trying to keep up with Khadgar’s steps. “Do they know I’m alive?”

“They had faith,” Khadgar said warmly.

Maiev could never have predicted how quickly those three simple words brought her peace. They circled once more around the square, silently, amicably, as the music played on. She looked out over Khadgar’s shoulder; people were joining them now, elves and dwarves and trolls and humans, linking hands and swaying along beside them.

“It’s working,” Khadgar said with a pleased smile. “Thank you for your services, Maiev.”

Maiev frowned. “You’re never to ask anything of me ever again.”

“Certainly not for a long, long time,” he agreed.

“May I cut in?” She heard a familiar voice from behind, and she froze, petrified, as Khadgar’s eyes widened at the figure standing at her back. She could sense him, feel the heat radiating off his body, before he circled around to face her.

“By all means,” the Archmage said, releasing Maiev and taking a step away. “Don’t let me get in the way.” He caught Maiev’s eye, gave her a pointed look, and was gone.

The next thing she knew, it was Illidan’s hand in hers, his arm around her waist. He stared down at her, as the corsairs’ song came to an end and was replaced with a slow, melodic tune. Maiev’s breath caught in her throat as Illidan stepped forward, pressing their bodies together, and began to lead.

They waltzed in silence, neither paying attention to the other dancers who moved nimbly out of their way. Maiev could hear his heart beating steadily, so unlike her own, and she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. So she closed them instead, and felt him lean down to rest his head against hers.

“You’re looking well,” he said into her ear.

She said nothing, choosing to focus on the movement of her feet and the sound of her steps. Illidan didn’t slow, nor did he press; they continued on uninterrupted, drifting across the courtyard in perfect unison.

“How did you find me?” Maiev allowed herself at last. “After I left the Cathedral?”

Illidan hummed against her ear. “I followed the corpses,” he replied. “You left quite a trail.”

“You were already gone,” she said, trying to understand.

“Yes,” he murmured. “But then I returned.”

Maiev stiffened. “Why?”

She stumbled slightly, as his arm tightened around her waist. “Because we need you,” he whispered.

She could feel everyone’s eyes on them, could see them stop their dancing and turn to stare. Maiev fought the urge to pull back and run. But Illidan had just saved her life, and she supposed this was something the entire camp already knew.

“You want to leave here,” Illidan said, quietly, only to her.

“Yes,” she breathed.

He nodded silently. One hand still around her waist, and the other still holding hers outstretched, they danced their way past the waltzing pairs which by now had crowded the square. They reached the steps that lead down to shore, where Illidan released her waist, but he kept her hand still tightly in his as he led her away from camp, away from the tents and broken columns and prying eyes. They hurried down, down past the graveyard and the tree where Illidan had slept the last time they’d touched, until they reached the rocky shore and Deliverance Point had shrunk to nothingness. Then, after a quick glance to make sure they were truly alone, Illidan pulled Maiev to him, hand returning to the small of her back, and began to sway.

“What are you doing,” Maiev hissed.

“Finishing what we started,” Illidan replied, entwining his fingers with hers.

“Here?” Maiev said indignantly. “I can’t even hear the music.”

Illidan leaned down, again, and she could feel soft vibrations against her ear.

“Can’t you?” he murmured.

Maiev didn’t know what to say to that, and so she said nothing. She simply swayed along with him, following where he led, as they had for ten thousand years.

He spun her gently, and she twirled back into him, as if she had always been doing this, as if they were always meant to be doing this—

With a snarl, she shoved Illidan off of her. He staggered back, surprised, confused—but Maiev was already backing away.

“What are you doing to me,” she hissed.

Illidan steadied himself and looked back in disbelief. “What are you talking about?” he cried, stepping closer.

“This,” she gestured between them. “Us. You think I don’t know you’re using some kind of fel magic?”

“I’m not using anything,” he vowed, but his hands had balled into fists and his wings were flared imposingly.

“Don’t lie to me!” She shouted, and stumbled back. “How else could you have corrupted my thoughts? Why else would my body ache for yours?”

Illidan put a hand to his forehead. “Perhaps for the same reason that mine does,” he said, frustrated.

“Which is what?” she spat.

“That maybe we weren’t meant to be enemies forever!”

Her heart was thundering in her chest. “You’d love to believe that, wouldn’t you?”

“Maiev,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to fight you.”

Maiev was deaf to his claim. What did he want, if not to antagonize her? Why would he come to her, and make her doubt herself?

“What do you want to hear, then?” she cried out. “That I’m afraid? That I have nothing left but my vengeance? That if you’re not the monster I’ve made you out to be, then the last ten thousand years have been a lie?”

Maiev was breathing heavily, and her ears rang with the weight of her words. But if they hadn’t, and if she’d listened very carefully, Maiev might have been able to pinpoint the moment that Illidan’s heart began to crack. He was looking at her, wordlessly, his face betraying some emotion that Maiev simply could not describe. But whatever that emotion was, she found herself looking back at him the same way.

“It’s not a lie,” Illidan finally said, so softly Maiev wasn’t sure that she’d heard him correctly. “Maiev, you…” He struggled to find the words. “You stopped me.”

He stepped forward. Reached out to her, wistfully, longingly. “You sent me to the Nether. You made me see the horrors I’d inflicted. After ten thousand years of hating you, I could finally see the truth, that you had always been right.”

Maiev stood rooted to the spot, pressure building in her chest. His admission hit her like an avalanche, and she almost cried at the irony; how much must the goddess hate her, that the first person to understand her purpose was the very soul she had tried to destroy?

“Khadgar may have brought me back to life,” he continued, “but I stay for you, Maiev. If I truly want to change, it’s you I must convince. And each time I look at you, you remind me of what I must become.”

She stared pleadingly at Illidan, willing him to stop, to say something that would convince her this was all a mistake. He was still nearing, still reaching, and she was too paralyzed to move. His fingers grazed her cheek, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes.

“Azeroth is burning, and I’m frightened,” he said softly. “Of what I’ll do to protect it, and what might happen if I don’t.”

She felt his pain, felt the storm of emotions that raged within him—or were these emotions her own, torturing her, threatening to overwhelm her at any moment? Maiev didn’t know anymore, and when Illidan reached for her hand, she let him take it.

“I know you,” he whispered, face only inches from her own. “I trust you. And if I go too far, if I do something reprehensible, I need you to do whatever it takes to stop me.”

He placed her hand flat against his heart, and she could feel its powerful beating beneath her palm. His hand covered hers, squeezing tightly, desperately.

“Will you do this for me, Maiev?”

 _You’ve killed him before_ . _Do you think you could do it again?_

He was so close, now, and Maiev fought weakly against the part of her that wanted to give in, to abandon ten thousand years of obstinance and surrender to the pull she had felt since Illidan’s return. She could hear his shallow breathing, and the steady beats of his heart. “What if I can’t?” she said, and her voice cracked.

“If I’m sure of one thing, Maiev,” whispered Illidan, placing his other hand reverently against her cheek, “it’s that there’s nothing you can’t do.”

Maiev threw caution to the wind.

Her lips crashed against his in an instant; she was shaking, and numb, and none of it seemed to matter as long as he was kissing her back just as fervently. His arms snaked around her waist, her hands dug into his shoulders. She leaned into the kiss, breathless, her entire body pressed tightly against his powerful frame.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” Maiev gasped. “About Tyrande.”

“To hell with Tyrande,” Illidan growled. He pulled her closer, pressed her nearer, capturing her lips with a desperate ferocity.

They lost themselves in each other; for seconds or decades, Maiev couldn’t tell. And when Illidan scooped her up and took off into the night, Maiev held him as tightly as he held onto her. They flew away from the broken shore, until Deliverance Point faded to a speck on the horizon; they flew to where Dalaran’s shadow fell and a small patch of land poked through the waves.

They landed, gently. He laid her down, gently. And she pulled him down on top of her, not very gently at all. They tumbled inelegantly into the sand, neither willing to let go of the other.

Illidan pulled back long enough to slide her tunic over her head. Maiev sat up and shook the wrinkled garment aside; she reached back out to him, but her thoughts were cut short when she saw the look on Illidan’s face as he gazed, tensely, at her stomach. Her eyes followed his, at the twisted, jagged scar that marred her body—the scar he had made, when he saved her life.

“I shouldn’t have left you,” he said, voice strained, grazing a hand over the mark. She shivered at the touch.

Maiev caught his hand in hers. “I shouldn’t have done a lot of things,” she whispered.

Their eyes found each other, green and silver, like the sky that churned and thundered and smoked above. Maiev was afraid to look away, afraid to break whatever spell had been cast between them. She didn’t blink when he pulled her in, lightly, hesitantly, and pressed his lips to hers; it was chaste, and soft, and unlike any kiss Maiev had known. She allowed her eyes to slip shut, and rested her forehead against his, the air around them charged and heavy with words left unsaid.

Illidan’s hand brushed her cheek, her hair, her shoulder. Maiev followed, allowing her fingers to glide down his neck, ghosting over the smooth surface of his tattoos, the goosebumps on his arms, the roughness of his horns. Warm hands wrapped around her waist, encircling her, pulling their bodies flush against each other. Maiev shivered at his touch, and kissed him as deeply and slowly as she knew how.

In all the years since Maiev had first known the pleasures of another’s company, she could never say she knew what it was to make love. But as Illidan lowered her onto the sand, and kissed from her neck all the way down to her scar, she was terrified to think that perhaps, this time, she might come close.

Her hands found his back, her body pressed achingly against his. A rustle of fabric, a gentle swish as clothes fell away, and then he was above her, waiting, and she wanted him now more than she had ever wanted him dead.

He positioned himself and gave her one last, long, lingering kiss.

“Are you sure?” he whispered into her ear.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

He placed one hand next to her head, and with the other, he guided himself inside her. He went slow, letting her adjust to his width, and by the time he had entered her completely Maiev was already moaning into his chest. She raised her hips ever so slightly, inviting him to continue, and as Illidan began to move inside her, Maiev pulled his face clumsily back to hers.

He hovered above her, just barely touching her lips; his shallow breaths mingled with her own as he thrust, and her hands found purchase on his shoulders, his back, his neck. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, her nipples hardening from the friction. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in tighter, feeling him deeper than ever before.

Maiev cried Illidan’s name unreservedly. Out here, surrounded only by the stormy sea, she had nothing to hide, and the sound of his name dropping past her lips seemed to spur Illidan on even further. His wings rustled, his teeth grinded together, as he brought a hand down between her legs.

They moved together, touching, exploring, panting and out of breath. Maiev wanted to feel him on every inch of her skin, wanted him to dissolve into her, to feel this way forever. And so did he, from the way he touched her, the way he grinned into her neck and sucked lightly against her pulse.

Her pleasure built slowly, steadily, and Maiev tried her best to commit this all to memory. She could feel her walls beginning to tighten, and Illidan must have sensed it too, because his pace grew frantic and he brought his mouth hastily back to hers. Maiev cried out against his lips when she came, as powerful shockwaves coursed through her body and lit every nerve like a beacon. Illidan fisted his hand in her hair and followed a few thrusts later, wings taut, fists clenched, calling her name.

They went limp against each other, and for a while they just lay there, breathless, connected, taking in the silence broken only by the sound of the waves and the whistle of the wind.

“That was…” Illidan rasped. “Maiev, I…” But it was his turn for words to fail him, so he simply closed his eyes and threaded his fingers through her silver strands while they waited for their heartbeats to return to normal.

At last he pulled out of her, and Maiev shivered at the cool breeze that tickled her sweat-slicked body. He lay down on his side, next to her, his wings splayed out behind his back; Illidan opened his arms and she crawled up to him, resting her cheek comfortably against his chest and wrapping an arm around his waist. A tattered wing draped over them both, shielding them from the cold night air.

“Prove me wrong,” she murmured into him. “Don’t let me regret this.”

“I wish I had the same faith in myself as I have in you,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm securely around her. He was so warm, and Maiev was so sleepy. “I need to make this world better. I need to _become_ better. But if I fail…” He kissed her firmly on the forehead. “Do what needs to be done.”

Maiev huddled closer, and Illidan’s hand found hers. Slowly, peacefully, she closed her eyes.

 _Don’t make me do it,_ Maiev prayed to Elune. _Whatever it takes._

**Author's Note:**

> So uh, stay tuned for that Tomb of Sargeras threequel.
> 
> ...
> 
> (Feel free to hit me up on tumblr @lalibertalia if ya want)


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